


In Bloom

by missingelderly



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Florist AU, Language of Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingelderly/pseuds/missingelderly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia Blake learns that things aren't always what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larisfreakshow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larisfreakshow/gifts).



> Originally written as a part of the 100 Secret Santa! I had a lot of fun with this one. Inspired (of course) by The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh.

Octavia was the queen of spur-of-the-moment decisions. When she packed up and left her hometown with only a day’s notice, her brother understood. Understood, but not necessarily approved.

But Octavia had a plan, and more importantly, she had somewhere to stay. Her friend Raven had recently vacated her half of a duplex in the historical district. The landlord didn’t even have time to list it before Octavia said she would take it. From there, Octavia would use the attached garage to fix up bikes. An apartment to herself, easy rent money, and the chance to experience the world on her own. Her plan was foolproof.

“If anything happens, I’m only two hours away,” Bellamy had said before she left.

“Two and a half,” Octavia replied. “And you won’t have to worry about anything.”

It was a sunny, cloudless day when Octavia moved in. Bellamy lamented that he couldn’t be there to see her new home, but she promised to text him when she got there and when she was done moving and when she changed the locks. Octavia was determined to make her apartment perfect, so when Bellamy visited he could see she had it under control.

Raven was waiting outside when Octavia arrived. She flashed Octavia a wink and opened the door with a flourish. “Fully furnished. You’re welcome.”

Octavia swept Raven into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re the best, Raven.”

“I know.”

Octavia sauntered over to the couch and flopped onto it. A wave of shock reverberated up her spine. The thing was as hard as a rock. “I stand corrected.”

Raven laughed. “Hey, at least it’s free. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I take it your girlfriend has…plusher tastes?”

“Don’t disrespect the couch. This old guy’s carried me through some tough times.”

She patted the dark green material fondly and a plume of dander rose up. She waved it away. “Anyway. Are you just going to sit on your ass while I move all your junk?”

Moving went quickly, since Octavia tried not to be bogged down by too many material objects. They chatted about Bellamy and his job at the library (“What is he, like eighty years old?”), Raven’s girlfriend and new housemate (“Clarke is going to adore you.”), and the duplex itself.

“I have to warn you,” Raven said. She cast Octavia a solemn look over a pile of empty cardboard boxes. “The neighbor is a total douche.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Octavia replied, lobbing another pair of socks into her new bureau. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He has a bad attitude and an even worse taste in music. Just try to avoid him.”

Octavia saluted. “Duly noted.”

Raven stood. “I’m gonna go grab the last box. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I think I’ll be putting up clothes for the rest of my life. I won’t be moving for a while.”

Even so, as soon as Raven’s footsteps were out of earshot, Octavia paused. It was her first time alone in the apartment. In fact, she had never really lived alone before. She wandered out of her bedroom.

The front door was open, sunlight pouring in. Octavia scooped up her box cutter from the couch and placed it in the back pocket of her jeans. Bellamy’s housewarming present had been a baseball bat, which she tucked behind the fridge. For a moment, the thought of living alone terrified her. Then she swallowed her fear and turned her thoughts to when she could get her garage up and running.

“Excuse me—”

She jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. She reached for the box cutter and saw that the intruder was just as startled as she was.

The man was perhaps a few years older than her, bald, and had the black lines of a tattoo peeking out from under one of his shirt sleeves. He held a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper and tied together with twine. He held one arm outstretched, as if he was trying to beckon a wild deer.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you…”

She shook her head. “No, no, don’t worry about it.” As her fear abated, suspicion took its place.

“I’m Lincoln,” he said. He pointed a thumb to the left. “I own the florist shop next door.”

“Octavia.” She frowned at him. “Are you the neighbor Raven warned me about?”

“I sure hope not. I’d hate to be on her bad side.”

She suddenly didn’t like the fact that Lincoln was standing in her house. She approached him until he had backed up onto the porch. “Well I hear she thinks you’re a douchebag. And I trust her judgement.”  
He gaped at her. “I…wow. I never would have guessed. She always used to love helping me with deliveries…”

“Guess not.”

At that moment, the door next to hers slammed shut. Another man stood on the porch, eyeing her and Lincoln. He locked the door to the other half of the duplex and seemingly produced a cigarette from empty air.

“You the new tenant?” he drawled.

“Yeah,” Octavia stammered.

He cocked his head to the side, like a bird of prey. “Murphy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He said it like it wasn’t a pleasure at all, and a swift death would be preferable to continuing the conversation any longer. He walked to his garage and a moment later he was pulling out of the driveway, a harsh metal song blaring from the speakers.

“That’s who she was talking about,” Octavia said to herself. “Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry—”

Lincoln smiled at her. “Don’t sweat it. And Murphy’s not a bad dude. Just…touchy.”

The sun seemed to glow a little brighter when he smiled. He offered her the bouquet. “These are for you,” Lincoln said. “A little housewarming present.”

She didn’t know the first thing about flower arranging, but the bouquet was definitely eye-catching. Large purple bulbs with yellow centers made up the brunt of the arrangement. A few strands of lavender petals wove the stems together, interlaced with a few sprigs of periwinkle flowers. There was a cluster of green stems filling in the gaps, and although Octavia didn’t know it by sight, she couldn’t mistake the scent.

“Fennel,” she said, cradling the bouquet close.

“Yes! And crocus and glycine and blue periwinkle, although that one’s a little harder to get this time of year. Don’t be surprised if it’s the first to go.”

Octavia nodded. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you. Sorry about calling you a douchebag.”

“Don’t mention it. And if you ever need any flower arranging or landscaping…”

She smiled back. “I know who to call.”

\- - -

A few weeks passed. Bellamy came over for a tour of her new apartment, which consisted of Octavia standing in the living room and pointing to the door to her bedroom. The sky had been grey all day, and when the first few drops of rain began to fall, Bellamy used it as an excuse to stay longer.

A fresh bouquet was displayed where the first one once stood. As soon as he saw it in her kitchen window, he arched his eyebrows in a typical suspicious older brother manner. He had the mercy to not mention it right then, and instead waited until they had settled in.

“Are those from the florist?” he asked when there was a lull in conversation.

“Yeah. He’s always abandoning flowers on my doorstep.”

That was true, although they weren’t typically full bouquets. Usually they were sprigs of flowers loosely tied together that mysteriously appeared on her doormat. The bouquet had been a thank you present for fixing up his truck the other day. It included more purple flowers and heaps of clover that almost spilled out from the wrapping.

“He always gives you these?”

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes when she saw his expression. “He’s harmless, Bell. Don’t flip shit.”

“Seems awfully elaborate,” he muttered into his cup of coffee.

“Why are you being so paranoid?”

He looked up at her. “Have you ever heard of the language of flowers?”

“No. Are you making that up?”

“It was used in the Victorian era to convey feelings through flower arrangements.”

“Drop it, Bell.”

But he didn’t. Bellamy returned a few days later with a book tucked inside his jacket. The pages were yellowed around the edges and the cover was mottled. Still, the gold foil lettering still said loud and clear “The Language of Flowers: A Guide to the Hidden Meaning of Blossoms, Herbs, and Branches”. He flipped to the index. “Do you know what any of these flowers are called?” He gestured vaguely to the now wilting bouquet.

“No, and I think they’re too dead to be identified at this point. But…”

Bellamy’s head snapped up from the book. Octavia bit her lip nervously.

“I remember the names of the flowers from the first bouquet.”

They spent the next few hours poring over the book, jotting down names and the descriptions of the flowers she couldn’t quite recall. With a sigh of relief, Bellamy read their notes on the description for blue periwinkle.

“’Blue periwinkle signifies the beginning of friendship’. That’s nice.”

“Don’t look so relieved that he’s not hitting on me.”

Bellamy continued as if he didn’t hear her. “And glycine means ‘your friendship is pleasing to me’. The last two don’t make a lot of sense. Fennel means strength, and crocus means ‘youthful gladness’.”

“Maybe it’s a mistranslation?” Octavia suggested.

“Maybe. I’m sure there are some nuances we’re missing.”

Bellamy stayed for a few more hours before leaving. He left behind the book in case she received another bouquet. He even offered to waive the late fee if she couldn’t check the book back in before the due date. Octavia called him ridiculous, but hugged him goodbye and wished him a safe trip home. 

After he left, she tried to identify her current bouquet. She was relieved that the first one didn’t mean anything scandalous. He would have thrown a fit. It took her a while, but eventually she worked it out.

“‘Clover’,” she said to herself. “‘Think of me.’”

Harmless enough. Right? When she read the next description, the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

Purple lilac— beginnings of love.

Oh God. Oh no. Maybe she had misidentified that flower. Yeah. That had to be it. She forced herself to decipher the last one. 

Iris— I have a message for you.

Octavia closed the book. A message? That sounded awfully cryptic. Even so, she was curious as to what it was. More than curious. She had to know.

Thoughts of the next bouquet clouded her mind for the following weeks. She repaired bikes and went out with Raven and her friends as usual, but Lincoln’s flowers were firmly rooted in the back of her mind. Every time she saw him her heart fluttered, knowing he had a secret he would soon divulge. And perhaps, she thought, she had a secret of her own as well.

\- - -

Once again, Murphy was playing his shitty music so loud that Octavia couldn’t hear herself think. The bike she was working on had to be finished in a few days, but she didn’t care. She abandoned her tools and walked to Lincoln’s.

She had never been inside his shop before. It was like stepping into another time. Silver bells chimed as she entered. The room was made of rough wood, and the flowers displayed on the shelves seemed to grow straight from the walls. The front windows let in the fading light from the sunset outside, giving the shop a warm glow as if a hearth was just out of sight. 

Lincoln looked up from the book he was reading. “Hello!” he said cheerfully. “Anything you need?”

“Just the pleasure of you company. The local police are already on a first name basis with me because of all the noise complaints I file against Murphy. I figured I’d give them a break tonight.”

He laughed. “I understand. I was just about to close up, actually.” He walked to a door on his right that was almost hidden by flowers. “Want to see where the magic happens?”

“Sure.”

The back was considerably more modern than the front. Rows of flower refrigerators lined the walls as opposed to the bouquets out front. In the center of the room was a large white table, clean except for a pair of gloves and a small, sturdy looking pair of scissors.

“Where do you get all these flowers?” Octavia asked, laying her hand on one of the glass doors.

“There’s a wholesale seller just outside of town. I grow what I can at home, but of course some species just aren’t native to this area.” 

He crossed the room and pulled a vase out of a cupboard. “Mind helping me with an order?”

It was amazing to see Lincoln’s concentration as he worked. Octavia did as he asked her to, trim a leaf there, get this from over there, but she didn’t want to interrupt his process. He handled each flower with a delicate, but precise hand. She spent so long watching him that she didn’t even realize when the bouquet was finished.

“Beautiful,” he said. He glanced over at Octavia. “Do you know what types of flowers these are? I’m sure you recognize the tulips.”

Octavia nodded. “The rest are violets and purple pansies.” 

“Yes! I should have picked more difficult ones for you.”

He slid the vase over to her. “Here. They’re yours.”

“What? You said they were for an order.”

Lincoln shrugged and leaned against the table. “It’s about time I made you a new bouquet. I would have made it earlier but I’ve been swamped recently. So many weddings.”

Octavia stuttered out a thank you and all but ran back home, clutching the vase in her hands. She frantically flipped through the book. It didn’t take her long to discover what his message was.

Purple pansy— you occupy my thoughts. Violet— faithful love. Tulips— declaration of love.

Octavia breathed again for the first time in weeks. She couldn’t say she wasn’t expecting something like this. But she thought she would be more…pissed off about it. Instead, she felt relieved. Happy, even.

Once the initial glow of happiness faded away, she found herself faced with a more formidable task. She opened the book again. She knew what she had to do.

\- - -

This was it. She had pilfered the flowers from local parks and grocery stores and, lacking any other suitable substitutes, wrapped them up in newspaper. Jonquil and roses. Not the prettiest pair, but it was the meaning that mattered. As Lincoln had done so many times before, she was just going to leave the flowers on his doorstep and bolt. Let him decipher it himself.

Only right as she stepped onto the porch, Lincoln opened the door.

He seemed surprised to see her. “Hey, Octavia. Didn’t expect to see you today.”

As unceremoniously as possible, she thrust the bouquet into his hands.

“What is this?” He asked, with a bemused sort of smile on his face.

“I figured out what you were saying. With your bouquets, I mean.” She gestured to the wilting flowers. “So, this is my response. Only you weren’t supposed to be here…”

“What my bouquets were saying?”

Octavia blanched. “Yeah. All that…um, do you really not know what I’m talking about?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I really don’t understand.”

She floundered for what to say. This was not going according to plan, this was not going according to plan at all. “The…the language of flowers! You know!”

Lincoln frowned. “I was just giving you those to brighten up your place. Every home needs fresh flowers.” He smelt one of the roses. “What did you think I was saying?”

Dammit dammit dammit. That was the last time she listened to her brother. She turned to leave. “I think I’m just going to—”

“No, stay!” He placed a hand on her arm. It was the lightest of touches, but it anchored Octavia to the ground. 

“Please,” Lincoln continued. “I think a good florist should know about stuff like this.”

Her heart was hammering in her throat. “You really want to know what it means?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

Before she could second guess herself, she kissed him. 

If his smiles were sunshine, his lips were the sun itself. His skin was warm under her lips and he smelled like so many flowers that she couldn’t name. The scent of flowers and engine oil had never smelled sweeter. She felt a hand as sturdy as an oak press against the small of her back.

“That’s the cliff notes version,” she said breathlessly.

Lincoln grinned at her, chuckling a little. “If that’s what you were saying to me, then what on Earth was I saying to you?”

Octavia smiled back. “I’d be more than happy to show you.”


End file.
